


Coal Swollen with the Pearls of a Tribute

by WildcatPacer



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 09:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11460663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildcatPacer/pseuds/WildcatPacer
Summary: Katniss visits Peeta in the Justice Building. Something.... happens. Enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 

I twist the hem of my faded blue dress in my hands nervously, as I wait in front of the wooden door in the Justice Building. I don't really know what I'm doing here. And I didn't even know as I ran from Mother and Prim as we headed home from the Reaping, safe and unscathed for another year. 

Except I am not unscathed. A boy has been Reaped for the 74th Annual Hunger Games. A boy who I now feel obligated to visit before it's too late. 

Peeta Mellark is a classmate of mine. He's in my year in school, though I don't know him well at all. I only know he is a wrestler, and a good one at that. We've never even spoken; we only interacted once and it was years ago. 

But it was an interaction that changed my life. And I must express this to Peeta Mellark, the Baker's son. 

The door suddenly opens as a boy whom I know to be one of Peeta's many friends exits the room. A Peacekeeper pushes me in before I have time to turn back. 

"Last visitor before the train. You have 20 minutes." How convenient. Most other visitors get a strict five minutes with the Tribute. I hope I have not been given this extra time because the guards think I am Peeta's....

Peeta Mellark is seated on a cushioned seat by the window as the door closes behind me. He turns and starts when he sees me, rising. 

"What are you doing here?"

My mind has strangely gone blank as I take in his stocky build. He's actually shorter than me, with ashy blonde hair. And those eyes.... eyes as blue as a summer sky... 

He's attractive enough. One might even say handsome. And that beauty is soon to be destroyed, which re-energizes me into saying what I came here to say. 

"I never got to thank you. For the bread. I just... thank you." Rarely have I ever expressed a debt like this so openly, and I feel my face growing hot. 

Peeta stares at me quizzically, almost amused. "What? From when we were kids?"

I peer at him. "You remember that."

"I remember most things about you. And Katniss... you have to know that the reason I gave you that bread is because.... because I love you."

I gape like a fish. Peeta Mellark loves me? I'm just the poor daughter of a Seam coal miner. Not particularly pretty, or even well-filled out. Prim is the real beauty of our family, having inherited our mother's Merchant features. Averting my eyes for a moment, I self-consciously tug at my braid. 

"Well.... thank you," I mumble. Shocking though it is, to tell someone out of the blue you love them. "But why didn't you say anything? Before?"

"I didn't know you," Peeta replies honestly. "We had never spoken; do you think I was going to walk up to you and say, 'Hey, remember me? I threw bread to you when we were kids; would you marry me?' No, no.... but....."

I, however, have stepped back as if physically struck, eyes wide. "You.... what?...... What did you say?"

Peeta blushes, as if catching himself for the first time. He pulls a small object out of his pocket. "Oh. I was, uh..... I've had this for several years. I was going to give it to you at the end of our last Reaping and ask you to marry me."

Peeta's intentions are common enough. It is customary for 18-year-old boys to, having survived their last Reaping, kneel before their sweethearts and ask for their hand in marriage. I know of many couples who marry at that age; Mother was only 19 when she wed Daddy. 

I now run Peeta's ring through my fingers, my face furrowed in thought. It's true that in proposing to me in two years' time, Peeta would have likely been asking an almost-total stranger for marriage. I probably would have viewed his ring as foolish, a waste of money. Laughed at his gall. And yet.... Peeta is strong. Good with his hands. He could have built a strong house for us and kept us alive with a worthy profession. Just as I know of many marriages in Twelve based on love, so also do I know of still more marital unions based on economic dependency. And even though I once vowed I would never take a husband in marriage for any reason....

"If you had asked me.... I would have said Yes," I find myself confessing to him. 

I suddenly feel a hand go about my waist, pulling me close. I look up to see Peeta's other hand cup my cheek, my face. His deep blue eyes draw in closer; my own gray orbs flutter shut. Standing perfectly still, I allow Peeta to kiss me full on the mouth. 

Even so, as his lips touch and press into mine, I let out a gasp into his mouth; this sound allows for Peeta to slip his tongue in between the split and massage my own tongue. The hand cradling my face now wraps around to hold my head in place.

Though, as I sink my fingers into his blond curls, I had no intention of moving anyway. 

Meanwhile, I feel Peeta's other hand slide down the curve of my ass, caressing and cupping the tender flesh there between his fingers. Boldly, I raise my leg to his waist, hitch it around his torso. I can be a pretty assertive woman when I need to be. He wants me, does he? Then he shall have me! 

I back us up until Peeta reverses into the cushioned seat. He falls backward onto it, taking me with him. Less sure of myself now, I awkwardly straddle his waist. Confident I am not going anywhere, both of Peeta's hands are now groping my ass through my blue dress, feeling me up. 

All at once, Peeta flips us, so that I am settled underneath us. As if on instinct, I spread my legs wide, so that Peeta can better nestle between them. His fingers now roll back the hem of my dress, the digits slinking up and petting the length of my thighs. The top straps of my dress are shrugged off my shoulders, so that my chest and bra are exposed in full view. Peeta's hands are everywhere! Mine, on the other hand, are still working on.... his damn belt buckle... 

I finally manage to throw down his pants, boxers and all, just as Peeta unclips my bra. He buries his face in between the valley of my breasts, before taking one of the perky nipples in his teeth. Gasping, I clutch his skull close, keeping him there as I arch into him, eyes wide. I can feel the slick saltiness of our bodies colliding, engaging in a ritual I have yet to place a name on. 

All at once, I feel a bloated.... thing push into the folds of my vagina. I gasp airily, choking on the breath passing into my lungs. I squeeze my legs tight around Peeta's waist and hold on. He begins to thrust into me. When my lips are not sealed around his, I moan like a dying animal. 

"Mmmmm..... mmuhhhh..... Huhhhh..... UHHHH! UHHHH!!!" With each of my cries, the rocking of our bodies becomes more violent. Peeta's thrusts become faster, more desperate. He finally throws both of my legs over his shoulders, pushing the hem of my dress nearly up over my face, as he pounds into me. 

At last, keeping Peeta suckling on my breast, I cry out. "AHHH!" It is something between a wail and a breathy sigh as I orgasm, my juices lapping out of my walls and coating Peeta's member. Seconds later, with a manly grunt, Peeta spills his seed into me, pumping and pulsing until every last drop has settled in my core. Kissing me gently, he swiftly pulls out. Our frenzied, mad coupling is over. 

I shakily get to my feet, despite the pang now between my legs, smoothing out the wrinkles in my dress and re-clothing myself. Peeta zips up his pants. 

"Thank you," I croak out. "Come home alive."

We shake hands - an unnatural interaction, anticlimactic based on the sexual encounter we have just engaged in. Peeta pulls me back to him. Cupping my chin in his hand, he kisses me one last time. I push his engagement ring, his District token, into his free hand. 

The Peacekeepers collect me, not suspecting. I try to walk out of there as normally as possible, despite the stinging pain at the apex of my thighs. Despite the trail of blood staining my panties and trickling down my legs. I can wash away the red sheen of blood, out back of our house. Throw away the underwear before Mother can see. 

After that, I can only hope for Peeta to come home so that, someday, our paths will cross again. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 

_He's back from mentoring for another year. Still no Victor since him. But at least I still have him._

_As soon as he stumbles in, I cross from where I have been working on the stove and throw my arms around him. Then, I glance over my shoulder at the little boy standing in the doorway._

**_"Carter, don't be rude. Say hello to your father."_ **

_Our little boy crosses to Peeta. **"Hi, Daddy,"** he says quietly. _

* * *

I wake up in bed with a start. My heart pangs, and tears prick my eyes. Oh, if only that dream were so! 

Peeta did not win the 74th Hunger Games. When I first experienced the nausea, two weeks into his ordeal, I thought little of it. Just a bad stomach bug. Or perhaps nerves from watching him survive on the Jumbotron every day. By that time, he had reached the Final Eight - the first District 12 tribute to do so in many years. Peeta made it all the way to the Top Three, in fact, where he entered a big final duel with Thresh, the black brute from District 11 and Cato, the Career beast from District 2. All three men fought fiercely at the base of the Cornucopia for the Crown. Peeta managed to kill Thresh, but heart-breakingly fell to Cato, who was crowned Victor. 

It wasn't until a few weeks after the funerals of Peeta and his district partner (she died in the Bloodbath) that I began to feel my stomach swelling. Feel my breasts ballooning. That's when I knew I was carrying him. Peeta's baby. Our son. 

I kept my pregnancy a secret for as long as I could. But as soon as I began to show and it was undeniable, the rumors began to fly. Some people thought it had been such a cruel summer for hunting, that I went to Cray out of desperation and that it's his. Our Head Peacekeeper is known to sleep with poor Seam girls who need the extra coins. Others think that Gale, my hunting partner, dragged me into the woods and fucked me there. If only they knew the truth.... no one would suspect that the Baker's son had me in the Justice Building, moments before he left, never to return. Not in a million years. 

His family does not know, by the way. Peeta's. If his mother alone knew, she would have a fit. She hates anyone Seam, and would never have allowed any son of hers to be with a Seam woman. She would likely tell the Peacekeepers, and they definitely cannot know. That my fatherless child is the son of a fallen Tribute. Especially a modestly successful one. Because that would mean that Carter would be tempting pickings for any future Reapings. It is rare for Victors to marry and have families, but those that do almost guarantee the participation of any children of theirs in the Games. Even Tributes who get far enough and still die might earn such a fate for their relatives. That's what happened to old Mrs. Conger, the shoemaker's widow. Her daughter was a promising tribute one year; made the Final Four. Her success incited her brother's participation a few years later. He wasn't so lucky, died quickly in the Bloodbath. 

Nevertheless, if Peeta had won and become Victor, I would have married him, for the baby's sake. Despite Mrs. Mellark's wrath. Despite risking sending Carter to the Games. I would have married Peeta for the sake of the baby. We would have bought a place of our own, signed the papers at the Justice Building. Had a toasting.

His name is Carter. Carter Peeta Mellark. But his full name is only used within the four walls of my mother's house, where I still live with her and Prim. Out around town, in any official documentation, we have always used the name Everdeen. Though with his blonde hair and deep blue eyes, the same as his father's, people know he is a Merchant's child. That I fucked a Merchant. Which Merchant has thankfully, so far, remained undetermined to anyone but me and my family. 

Mother was aghast when she found out that Peeta Mellark had impregnated me. I suppose she would have thought I'd be smarter than to bed a stranger. But, she still helped me through my pregnancy, even the delivery. 

This is where I find myself now, sitting down to dinner with my family and five-year-old son. Suddenly, there is a knock at the door. Carter runs to answer it before asking to be excused, and I bound after him. 

The Witch is on the other side of our door. Peeta's mother. And though Carter doesn't know it, his grandmother. Upon seeing my son, she grins almost in triumph. 

"So, it's true, then. This is my grandson, and you're his mother."

I say nothing in reply, but my gaze and silence is affirmation enough. The Witch sweeps inside, followed by her sheepish husband, the Baker, and Peeta's two older brothers. Both of the surviving Mellark boys are married and with families of their own. Oddly, my mother goes to give the Baker a hug in greeting. The Witch stiffens at this, but says nothing. 

"So, when did you do it, girl? Fuck my youngest boy?"

I slap my hands over Carter's ears. "Just after he was Reaped. I went to see him in the Justice Building and we...."

"You had sex," she finishes flatly. She scoffs. "I might have known. He was in love with you when he was his age," she gestures at Carter. "And, of course, a Seam slut like you would have fucked him out of pity..."

"It wasn't pity," I snap at her presumption. "He told me how he wanted to marry me, and, well.... I gave him the only thing I could. I did not know a child would be conceived." I study the woman who would have been my mother-in-law curiously. "How did you find out, anyway? I've tried to keep it a secret."

The Baker now steps forward and explains how the week before Carter had come in to buy bread. I remember; I had given him the money I had saved up for Parcel Day. Carter had done something while there that reminded the Baker of Peeta, and he had shared his suspicions with his wife. 

"We're here to take him back with us," the Witch announces. "He shouldn't be brought up in a Seam hole like this."

Just as I feared. I throw Carter behind me and seize my bow. Cries split the air, but I could care less. I string the arrow and take aim. "No. I won't let you take him." The Witch glares at me, but I stare her down. "If I had gone in instead of your son, I could have won. I can kill you just as easily as an animal."

The Baker places a hand on his wife's shoulder. And she backs down. 

"He's not leaving me," I vow. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

"Nor I!" booms a voice, and I stare as Haymitch Abernathy, Victor of the 50th Annual Hunger Games, appears in the door. He enters our house and looks me up and down. "So.... you're the girl who opened your legs to him?"

My eyes and gaze remain cold, even as I inwardly smirk at his phraseology; it is vintage of our district's second and only living Victor. "Yes."

Haymitch smirks. "Atta boy," he grins. "Bring out the child, sweetheart. I have something I want to give to him."

I bring Carter out from behind my dress. The way he shrinks into my skirts communicates his shyness in the presence of Twelve's hero. My son knows exactly who stands before him. 

Haymitch now kneels before my son, his face one of abject wonder. A name - the name of my son's father - graces his lips. Then, Haymitch presents Carter with a medal. "Your Daddy would have wanted you to have this."

My son and I behold a circular medal - silver in color. It is engraved with Peeta's name. To commemorate how he got runner-up, second place, in the Games. It is tradition for the top three finishers - the Victor included - to receive a medal. No doubt Thresh got bronze, and Cato, the 74th Victor, got gold. 

Carter takes the silver medal with a small thank you. Moved, I hug Haymitch. 

"The boy talked about you non-stop, you know," Haymitch says sadly, fondly remembering the closest he has ever come to producing a Victor. "To the day he died. He would be very proud of you and the kid, Sweetheart."

He's right, I think as I smile down lovingly at Peeta's and my son. Peeta would be. 

 


End file.
